A Moron In A Labcoat Is Still A Moron GANGSTA-IZED
by CheezyPortalFan
Summary: Space, tha final frontier n' stuff. Or, actually, no itz not fo' realz. A Human Wheatley story, bout Human Wheatleyz freshly smoked up game. Rated T fo' Paranoia. Insane Childish GLaDOS n' Insane Stalker Chell live here. WARNING! HEAVY SWEARING DUE TO GANGSTA-IZATION! And for the last time: THIS IS A FREAKIN' JOKE! The ACTUAL story is the serious version of this!
1. Chapter 1

What ta do if one of mah thugs asks you if you wanna git all up in space:

Say no.

Space is borin fo' realz. And big.

"SPAAAAAAAAAAAAACE!"

"Yep mate, we is up in space fo' realz. And, if somehow we suddenly became not up in space, I be shizzle you would do a grade A thang, of informin me, dat we is not, up in fact, up in space."

"Yo, hey hey hey, space dawg!"

"Yes, I be yo' space dawg yo. Hurrah!"

"Do you, do you remember th-th-the space lady, biatch? IN SPACE!"

"I do, and, tell me, what tha fuck do dis gotta do wit space?"

"Nothing. No space. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Space ta big, WANNA GO BACK! BACK TO EARTH!"

"Sorry, mate, we stranded, no way back. We stuck here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. Forever."

_"Oh straight-up, now?"_

"W-w-who holla'd that?"

_"I be pissed tha fuck off you forgot bout me, moron."_

"Fuck dat shit, it can't be…"

_"Oh it is, n' though you may have forgotten bout me wit dat TINY processor of yours, I aint forgotten bout yo thugged-out ass."_

Just then, a portal opened on tha moon n' a excursion funnel blasted through, pullin his ass tha fuck into dat shit.

_"Do you remember when I holla'd all up in tha test subject what tha fuck yo' punishment is, biatch? Fuck dat shit, of course you don't, you too much of a moron. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Well, I suppose you gonna just gotta wait ta smoke up."_

Dude was pulled all up in tha portal, shortly afta which a arm grabbed his muthafuckin ass.

Then every last muthafuckin thang went black.

* * *

Do you know what tha fuck itz like ta spend a year up in room where itz three thousand degrees Fahrenheit, then a year up in a room eight thousand degrees below freezing, then bein locked up in a room where even tha walls scream at you fo' ten years?

Of course you don't.

It aint nuthin but excruciating, first you wish not a god damn thang mo' than ta def off, then you wish not a god damn thang mo' than ta warm up, then you wish you could disable yo' microphones ta prevent a loss of sanity.

But you git no such comforts.

Then you git crushed eva so slowly, wit a mashy-spike-plate.

* * *

Da Reassembly Machine was mindin its own bidnizz, tinkerin wit a cold-ass lil circuit board, when he gots a pin from Surveillizzle spittin some lyrics ta his ass a cold-ass lil core had just been crushed.

Dude quickly swept up tha corez remains n' extracted tha lil' small-ass Aperture Science Data Storage Pocket Dimension Powered Miniature Data Storage Device up in Orange, n' downloaded tha corez compressed backup personalitizzle file.

Then he realized dat schmoooove muthafucka had no freshly smoked up core chassis.

Dude tried ta dig up tha schematics but tha filez was so corrupted they looked mo' like a funky-ass big-ass blob than schematics, so he gave up, n' went back ta tinkerin wit his circuit board.

Then he felt tha urge.

It would be most accurately busted lyrics bout as a incredibly phat NEED ta fix tha lil core.

Fix it fix it fix it fix it FIX IT.

Afta his schmoooove ass could no longer bare it, da perved-out muthafucka started lookin fo' a freshly smoked up chassis, ANY chassis, ta put tha corez filez tha fuck into ta git rid of dat horrendous feeling.

There was no Military Andrizzle chassis.

There was no Surveillizzle Drone chassis.

There was no Lunar Sediment Collection Drone chassis.

There was no Testable Andrizzle Personalitizzle Construct Avatars.

Afta lookin all up in warehouses 1A-137ZXY n' findin no suitable chassis fo' tha lil core, da perved-out muthafucka busted a system-wide pin askin all tha systems if there was any empty chassis anywhere up in tha facility.

There was a response.

So faint he almost didn't catch dat shit.

Then there was another, much stronger pin followin dat shit.

Deep up in tha basement, where not a god damn thang livin had been up in hundredz of years, a eighty-foot tall behemothz diesel backup generators roared ta game.

Da thang moved slowly, testin up all of its gears, pulleys, lasers, mass-fabricators, servos, hydraulics, pneumatics, n' rail system.

A sign swung back n' forth gently, wit its barely legible text readin 'Sentient Assembly System Prototype MK Pt II'.

It had gotten a pin from tha Reassembly Machine, tha newest iteration of itself, askin if anythang knew where a cold-ass lil chassis compatible wit a AIz file system was.

Dude done did.

It wasn't what tha fuck one would call a cold-ass lil conventionizzle chassis, no, organic thangs was not typically thought of as a cold-ass lil chassis.

But tha Cryogenic Storage Chambers dat schmoooove muthafucka had built had tha system required ta chizzle neural pathways, tha only system up in tha ghetto ta be able ta be able ta re-map a manz dome.

And he knew where tha hidden Test Subject Vault was, cuz his thugged-out lil' punk-ass built dat shit.

Afta da perved-out muthafucka busted tha pin ta tha Reassembly Machine, he pinged tha Central Core askin it fo' instructions.

Da Reassembly Machine wasted no time findin tha Successful Test Subject Vault up in Oldskool Aperture n' inputtin tha erect codes provided by tha Prototype tha fuck into they respectizzle locks.

Then tha facilitizzle shook.

Da door dat schmoooove muthafucka had opened was one of a kind, though it wasn't particularly unlike a Aperture Science Innovators Sixty-Foot Air Lock Vault Door.

But it locked away a gangbangin' freezer so cold it would make tha vacuum of space seem like a tropical island.

Inside was two hundred hommies from round 1978 preserved up in aperture Cryogenic Storage Stasis n' Containment Units, All of dem frozen ta tha molecular level so as ta prevent dome damage.

Dome damage, biatch? No.

Complete memory loss, biatch? Yes yes y'all.

Da Reassembly Machine then looked fo' a 'chassis' dopest fittin tha lil corez parameters. None of dem had tha same color eye or fittin afro color yo, but dat was easily fixed wit tha a lil blue dye, a syringe, n' some industrial strength bleach.

Then it started tha download.

It didn't hurt, it couldn't cuz tha dome was currently shut down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. All of tha neurons' data was wiped n' tha pathways was rerouted as tha manz personalitizzle was replaced wit tha lil corez programming. Da only partz of tha dome dat was not modified was tha dome stem n' motor control.

Da urge finally went away, n' tha Reassembly Machine could finally be thinkin properly again.

Da Reassembly Machine holla'd all up in tha Unit ta move along its rail up ta tha Enrichment Centa before wakin tha ex-core up.

* * *

When Wheatley came to, tryin ta rap was tha straight-up original gangsta thang da ruffneck done did.

Then he realized his vocal processor wasn't takin any of his commands.

Then he looked down.

Then his newly acquired subconscious did what tha fuck any phat newly acquired subconscious would do when its masta is up in such a state of shock.

It knocked his ass up ta prevent permanent trauma.

* * *

A few minutes later, his schmoooove ass came ta (again…) n' was prepared fo' when he looked down n' saw four limbs wit five digits on each limb.

Then he marveled over tha fact dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had hands, n' whooped loudly up in celebration.

Actually, no da ruffneck didn't.

Dude TRIED ta push tha sound all up in his vocal processor yo, but it still seemed ta be unresponsive.

Givin up, tha pimpin' muthafucka tried ta stand wit his newly acquired legs.

And failed miserably.

Afta seventeen tries (and sixteen fails) he managed ta stand n' start struttin straight-up slowly n' carefully.

Actually, no, da perved-out muthafucka staggered like da thug was faded.

When he finally looked forwards, tha pimpin' muthafucka took notice of a playa up in his fuckin late twentizzlez of average height wit bright blue eyes behind black-thick-framed glasses n' sandy brown afro up in a lab coat struttin right towardz his muthafuckin ass.

Then da thug strutted tha fuck into a mirror.

Da resoundin bang followed by tha mirror topplin over n' shatterin could be heard all up in tha entire facility.

* * *

**A./N.**

**Wuz crackalackin' anonymous reader!**

**DISCLAIMER: If I need ta rap dat I don't own Portal, Wow. Just, Wow.**

**Any n' all valid jive-ass shiznit is pimped outly appreciated!**

**Muh first non-one-shot rap dawwwwg! I'ma update when I feel like it, n' I gots a rough outline of how tha fuck I want dis rap ta bounce tha fuck out.**

**If you be thinkin dis rap is fast-paced then yo ass is RIGHT! *Holdz two thumbs up* Because I suck at freestylin filler... : / And maybe just freestylin fanfiction up in general…**

**Thanks fo' reading!**

* * *

**I found this site (gizoogle dot com) that gangsta-izes paragraphs, and I tried it with this!**

**You laughed so much it hurt, didn't you? I did too.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CRASH**

Wheatley lie on his back, wonderin what tha fuck just happened, before he gots up n' kept struttin along tha catwalk.

Eventually, his schmoooove ass came ta a room wit a slightly faded sign hangin above tha doorway readin 'Test Subject Preparationizzle Apparatus Storage Room', Da room dat held all of tha unused Testin Equipment.

Wheatley had never peeped all kindsa muthafuckin boots up in his wild lil' freakadelic game.

Dude knew from his shoe size from tha label on his current shoes, so it wasn't dat hard ta find a pair ta fit his Nikes.

Da problem, however, was gettin dem on.

Yo ass see, there be three prongs dat slide all up in tha flesh of yo' leg (Da boots come wit painkillers) n' clamp round tha bone ta dampen da most thugged-out inertial force without breakin a funky-ass bone. Typically, a Test Associate would help tha Test Subject put tha boots on so they wouldn't accidentally break tha high-rollin' boots.

Unfortunately, all of tha Test Associates had been forcibly removed from tha premisez of tha Bein Kickin It Joint.

There was a machine dat would put dem on fo' you yo, but dat shiznit was a shitload mo' fucked up process cuz tha lil robotic arms n' servos would frequently pinch tha Test Subjectz skin.

Wheatley hustled dis tha hard way.

Dude wanted ta yell or scream up in pain afta tha process was done, it hurt so much cuz da ruffneck didn't give a fuck ta take tha lil red n' white pizzlez dat came up in a lil' small-ass vial strapped ta tha boots.

But his vocal processor was still unresponsive.

Dude did, however, learn dat humans' eyes leak a salty fluid when they is up in pain, which just made his ass panic more.

And then his subconscious knocked his ass up again.

* * *

When Wheatley woke up, tha straight-up original gangsta thang he noticed was dat tha pain was gone. Da second thang he noticed was dat da thug was still lyin on his side next ta tha Aperture Science Long Fall Boot Limb Attachment Helper n' shit. (A thang you stand on wit a funky-ass bunch of lil movable arms)

Dude gots up, then tried ta booty-call up askin if mah playas was there.

And his vocal processor still wasn't working.

Dude then strutted over ta another shelf across tha room n' picked up one of tha a shitload of ASHPDs linin tha shelvin unit.

And… Dude didn't give a fuck how tha fuck ta use dat shit.

First tha pimpin' muthafucka tried holdin it on its side, then tha pimpin' muthafucka tried stickin his hand tha fuck into tha 'Operationizzle End' but a iris blocked his hand, THEN da perved-out muthafucka stuck his hand up in tha erect side of tha device fo' realz. Afta which tha pimpin' muthafucka tried pressin all three buttons.

Button one - Blue Portal

Button two - Orange Portal

Button three - Gravitationizzle Distortion Field

Afta memorizin tha order by repeatedly chantin tha order inside his head, da perved-out muthafucka started struttin outside tha roomss exit.

And then tha door locked behind him, sealin his ass in.

_"Oh look, another Test Subject. I thought I was all out… Well, I suppose I can't let a 'useful' Testin Apparatus git all up in waste."_

Da look of pure terror on his wild lil' grill was quickly replaced by one of horror as tha ground opened up n' swallowed his ass whole.

Actually, tha panels comprisin tha floor just moved outta tha way.

Dude was dropped directly tha fuck into a Test Chamber wit a Weighted Storage Cube n' a 1500-Megawatt Supa Button.

Even a moron could solve tha test up in less than forty-five seconds.

Da next test was just as easy as fuck , containin a funky-ass button n' a cold-ass lil cube, however, dis test had a un-jumpable pit dat required crossing.

Still, da perved-out muthafucka solved dis one up in less than a minute wit his ASHPD.

All tha while, GLaDOS was like on tha down-low except fo' tha occasionizzle 'Continue Testing' when he paused.

* * *

By tha eighth Test Chamber, da thug was dodgin Thermal Discouragement Beams while flyin all up in tha air via a Aerial Faith Plate n' a well placed portal.

Dude was straight-up like phat at testing.

Sure, it took his ass a minute or two ta straight-up work up tha problem yo, but without tha barrier of tha Decision Processor dictatin his wild lil' fuckin every last muthafuckin thought, dat shiznit was like easy as fuck fo' his ass ta solve tha puzzles.

That didn't mean he made no mistakes, however.

Dude made like all dem mistakes up in fact yo, but only all dem was game threatening, n' most of tha others could be recovered from without restartin tha Test Chamber.

That didn't mean da thug wasn't afraid dis was just another form of punishment handed ta his ass by GLaDOS. Though, up in reality, GLaDOS had no clue whoz ass da thug was, she just knew dat schmoooove muthafucka had completed mo' tests than any other test subject on file, although most of tha others was dome damaged or ran her original gangsta 19 chamber Test Track dat capped dem all up in tha end.

If you ignored tha threat of constant danger, testin was straight-up like thrilling.

I mean sure, you git cut or a scrape here or there (Which he found like horrifying.) but flyin all up in tha air at terminal velocitizzle while tryin ta catch a cold-ass lil cube is straight-up like fun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Plus, tha Aperture Science Cellular Regeneration n' Nutritionizzle Supplement Vapor kept his ass feelin fine n' healed most cuts or fractures rather doggystyle. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So he almost enjoyed testing.

Except fo' tha moments filled wit intense terror n' pain.

Like tha mad close run up in wit tha turret up in Chamber 27, which gave his ass three shiny freshly smoked up cap holes.

Though, da perved-out muthafucka still couldn't talk.

Well sure, he made tha occasionizzle accidental grunt or scream yo, but da ruffneck didn't give a fuck what tha fuck commandz ta give his freshly smoked up vocal processor ta make it work properly, he just thought dat schmoooove muthafucka had a thugged-out defectizzle vocal processor.

Figures.

Dude gets a funky-ass brand freshly smoked up body wit bloody fingers muthafucka! And his vocal processor don't work!

It aint nuthin but madness!

* * *

**A./N.**

**Wuz crackalackin' anonymous reader!**

**DISCLAIMER: 'Nuf holla'd.**

**Yup, Wheatley can't rap cuz da ruffneck don't give a fuck how tha fuck yo. His voice box, lips, n' his cold-ass tongue work just fine yo, but da ruffneck don't give a fuck how tha fuck ta coordinizzle dem ta git lyrics ta form. I don't give a fuck why playas be thinkin his schmoooove ass can just 'become human' n' then instantly know how tha fuck ta talk.**

**And I made his ass phat at tests, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. Please don't bust a cap up in mah dirty ass.**

**Thanks fo' reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

Wheatley was trippin' off testing.

That is, until he almost lost his hairy-ass legs ta a Thermal Discouragement Beam he accidentally activated all dem moments too early up in Test Chamber 35, at which point he remembered exactly how tha fuck fucked up Testin be n' started inconspicuously searchin fo' a escape.

It wasn't until Test Chamber 41 (With a metric ton of turrets) da perved-out muthafucka saw dat shit.

There, up in a lil' small-ass unwatchable nook, sat a Aperture Science Genetically Modified Hyper Intelligent Supa Sentient Avery Specimen chillin up in its nest, incubatin its egg.

Dude then inconspicuously started struttin over ta tha hidden nook, n' shooed tha bird.

When he picked up tha lil round-ish ping-pong-ball-ish egg, he straight-up 'gently' stuffed it tha fuck into tha front pocket of his fuckin labcoat.

Dude finished tha Test Chamber as quickly as his schmoooove ass could, (It took bout 45 minutes.) decided dat all tha turrets could git all up in hell, n' then strode tha fuck into tha elevator ta go tha next test.

Then da perved-out muthafucka saw his chance.

Da Test Chamber da thug strutted tha fuck into was still bein built, n' there was exposed panel arms everywhere frantically pickin up they panels ta build up tha chamber.

All dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta do was throw tha egg at one of em.

FISZZZCH

_"What is you bustin?"_

Dude wanted ta taunt her, ta tell her dat da thug was escapin n' dat there was not a god damn thang dat thugged-out biiiatch could do bout dat shiznit son!

But his schmoooove ass couldn't yo. His vocal processor still wasn't takin any of his commands. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So da ruffneck did tha next dopest thang.

Dude went up ta one of Her cameras, n' stuck his cold-ass tongue out.

_"What tha fuck iz tha meanin of this?"_

Then da thug waltzed right outta tha Test Chamber, n' jumped onto a cold-ass lil catwalk.

_"Come back!"_

Yeah, like da thug would dig her muthafuckin ass.

* * *

Afta a minute of strutting, he finally found a thugged-out door.

And dat shiznit was locked.

Fortunately fo' him, dat schmoooove muthafucka had peeped tha Scientists punch up in tha code ta tonz of doors, just like dis one, from his thugged-out lil' pimpment rail.

Now if only his schmoooove ass could remember tha code…

1234, biatch? No.

2341, biatch? No.

5684, biatch? No.

Why couldn't he remember tha code?!

Afta all dem minutez of frustration while tryin ta remember tha code, da perved-out muthafucka slipped n' banged his head on tha keypad.

1894 was entered.

And…

And…

Dat shiznit was tha wack code.

But while da thug was waitin fo' tha code ta register, da ruffneck didn't notice da thug was puttin all of his weight on tha door.

**CCRRAAACK**

And then tha door fell tha fuck outta tha doorframe.

* * *

**A./N.**

**Wuz crackalackin' anonymous reader!**

**DISCLAIMER: … This is gettin old.**

**Short chaptas is short. *Puts on straight-up legit Aperture Science Luminessence Dampener Frame With Lens Made of Pure Win* Deal wit dat shit.**

**Iammemyself: Babies aint gots any scam bout what tha fuck ta do wit they hairy-ass legs when they is first born, they gotta peep other playas strutt until they learn how. Wheatley has been watchin playas strutt fo' most of his wild lil' freakadelic game as a cold-ass lil core, n' already knows dat you move yo' hairy-ass legs up in sequence ta provide locomotion. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. All dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta do was figure up how tha fuck ta move his hairy-ass legs up in holla'd sequence yo. Dude also knows dat humans move they grills ta rap yo, but da ruffneck don't give a fuck what tha fuck sequence ta big-ass up ta create lyrics, n' thus cannot fo' realz. And besides, he is used ta bustin a Boolean strang ta a processor n' havin it output his fuckin lyrics, not movin a grill fo' realz. And fuck you, I try.**

**I bet you thought dat I was goin ta use tha cliche 'Characta hits a keypad n' tha erect code is inputted' cliche didn't yo slick ass, biatch? Admit dat shit.**

**Thanks fo' reading!**


	4. An Author's Sanity's Letter To A Guest

Dear Most Recent Guest,

This story is a parody of my other story A Moron In A LLab coat Is Still A Moron, and a joke.

I thought I had made the fact it was a joke clear enough. Apparently, I did not.

In fact, I thought I'd set this story to Complete, apparently, I forgot that as well.

To those very few of you who will get mad at this Author's note:

My policy is generally to reply to every review I get via Private Messaging. Unfortunately, this guest was a guest, and I could not. It is very frustrating when people leave guest reviews as I feel obliged to respond to them.

-CheezyPortalFan's sanity.


	5. An Author's Sanity's Note To Macmine411

Dear newest Guest Reviewer, AKA Macmine411,

I have not been working on any fanfictions recently as I have been extremely busy rehearsing for an upcoming play I am participating in.

I don't really know why I'm in a play seeing as it has nothing to do with Computer Science, but that's not the point.

I have started work on another chapter of aRoP2WLoT, and it'll probably be done in a day or so, I'm trying to make it slightly longer.

About aMiaLiSaM: I have hit a snag in writing that, and I can't figure out where I want to go with that, so it's kinda on a short break, but kinda not. My brain is currently preoccupied with studying how transistors work. I just ran a few chapters through gizoogle's 'gangsta-izer' for the fun of it.

None taken.

To all guest reviewers: PLEASE JUST MAKE AN ACCOUNT! IT'S SOOOO EASY!

-CheezyPortalFan's degrading Sanity.


End file.
